


Torment

by bewdofchaos



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: A character study in guilt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Dark, Guilt, Introspection, Millennium Ring, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewdofchaos/pseuds/bewdofchaos
Summary: Ryou’s past puts him and another in a perilous situation. As they try to figure out how to escape, they find themselves at the mercy of the Spirit of the Millennium Ring.Part of the Darker Oneshots 2020 Event/Challenge.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou & Yami Bakura, Bakura Ryou & Yami Bakura & Thief King Bakura
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7
Collections: Darker Oneshots 2020





	Torment

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago, the lovely [SerenaJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenaJones/pseuds/SerenaJones) recommended me to SethsKiss, one of the Darker Oneshots 2020 Event/Challenge organizers, for this challenge. I was absolutely flattered! As some of you have come to find out, I never back down from a challenge, so I was definitely stoked to work on this and step out of my comfort zone!
> 
> I’ve never written anything to this level of dark and twisted before, so I’m curious to know your thoughts on how it turned out! I was inspired by a concept from a popular TV show, try to guess which one!

A knife was held in hand, gleaming metal catching glimmers of streetlight. The night air was cool but was not as cold as the blood running through his veins. As he stared wide eyed at the unexpected weapon in his hand, fear began to crawl up his spine like a cluster of spiders. This was not right, he had to drop the knife. Despite his protest and attempt, his fingers paradoxically tightened around the carved bone handle. No matter how hard he tried, he could not release it. He had no control. How could this be…

Through eyes that both were and were not his own, Ryou stared at the older man cowering on the damp pavement in front of him. He watched as every step he took caused the man to skitter backwards through the grime and filth of the narrow alley way. He continued to advance, and soon, the man could not cower any further, his back firmly pressed up against a dumpster.

“You will give me exactly what I want.” Ryou said against his own volition.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please… please let me go.” The older man seemed to choke on his words, fear catching his tongue.

“I don’t believe you.” His usually delicate British accent held an edge as sharp as the blade in his hand. “You had best start talking.”

From the darkened corner of his mind where he resided, he could hear the man swallow and stammer out a similar response again. It did not help his case. Ryou’s body closed the gap, crouching down in front of the man as his lips twisted into a sadistic smile.

“There are ways I can make you talk.” His mouth said as his hand raised the knife.

Ryou’s heart nearly stopped. This was taking things much too far and he had seen enough. With a sudden burst of frantic energy driven by his mounting concern over what his body would do, Ryou burst forth from the depths and tried to seize control. He managed to capture control of his hand, drawing it back and towards his own chest where his tormentor’s golden artifactual prison rested. His knuckles dug into the gold tines of the Millennium Ring briefly as he maintained control for a mere moment, then in a blink, his grip was gone. He was torn again from himself, a searing pain shooting through him as if his muscle had been filleted from fascia. The scream that erupted inside never reached his lips.

From the forefront, the darker soul that also resided within his body turned his attention onto him. The spirit almost never acknowledged his host, but when he did, a new wound would inevitably be inflicted upon Ryou’s soul. When the dark spoke, he chose to use Ryou’s tongue as a taunt.

“Now that was rather brash of you… and incredibly ill advised.” The voice that was not his own lashed out. “For that, this man will pay.”

Not again. The spirit knew exactly what buttons to press when it came to making his life a living nightmare. Shuddering, Ryou receded further back into his corporeal prison that was once his freedom, his autonomy. It was not a new sensation, this sort of thing often happened whenever he tried to defy the spirit. At best, he would be suppressed and pushed so far into a dark corner of his own mind that he would become unaware of his surroundings. Numbed to his core, akin to solitary confinement. However, when his ploys to re-seize control truly incensed the spirit, he would be trapped at the forefront, fully aware of this own body yet bound completely by the darkness. He would then be forced to watch whatever truly terrifying or brutal act his tormentor was poised to inflict.

The things he saw had forever changed him.

A sickening hum pulled him back to reality. The dark spirit inhabiting his body raised the knife to his own lips. He stuck out his tongue, curling it around the edge as he pulled slowly. The sharp bite caused Ryou to cry out silently in his mind prison. His body did not cry out. Instead, a rumble of laughter, teasing yet humourless filled the alleyway.

“That is only the beginning.” The words tasted like rust.

“You’re… you’re insane!” the older man pressed up against the dumpster stammered, his scraggly grey beard trembling with every word.

All he received in response was a growl. Faster than a blink, his hand snatched the man’s wrist. Before the extremity could be pulled away, Ryou’s hand pressed the blade against the man’s palm and drew back swiftly. The man cried out, pressing his other hand into his bleeding palm. The attempt at pressure was futile, droplets of blood still tumbled from his hand to the darkened pavement.

“P-Please… no.” The man’s eyes wildly swung from his hand to Bakura. “W-Why…”

“Because I like it… and I know _he_ can’t stand it.”

A sudden punch to the zygoma cracked like a shot through the alley. Bakura’s fist grazed the man’s nose in its course, impacting with a sickening crunch. The man let out another cry, a sob breaking its end.

As the man clutched his face and tried to collect himself, the spirit stared down for a moment to admire his handiwork. Ryou could practically feel the satisfaction coursing through his tormenter. It was sick. This demon inside of him was _sick._ As much as he wanted to try to force out the demon again, he knew that he was not strong enough to break out of his binds. Even if he was, his freedom was sure not to last long enough to be able to do any good for the man quaking at his feet.

“Alright, time to move on, shall we?” The dark spirit’s question was a harbinger for things to come.

His hand roughly grabbed the man’s wrist and turned it so the palm faced downwards. With one slow, yet fluid motion, he drew the blade across his victim’s forearm. The startled and strangled cry ripped at Ryou’s conscience, but did not even make the spirit take pause. The blade was pulled again with a practiced efficiency. And again. Each time the man was slashed, his cries grew weaker and more pitiful. Blood oozed in tiny streams from the cuts, which had been made strategically along his limbs to inflict pain while preventing his victim from bleeding out too quickly.

“Now, now. Don’t go to sleep on me.” Ryou’s tongue said as the hand releasing the man’s arm. His palm smarted as he gave him a couple swift slaps to the cheek. “ _He_ needs to see you awake for this.”

This is how it always happened. It was never about the victim. They were never targeted to be robbed, punished or really even killed. They were selected because they were merely there. Unsuspecting of their surroundings. Unaware of the dangers that lingered just beyond the edges of their vision. Once they were ensnared, the spirit knew that their slow and prolonged deaths would eat away at Ryou no matter who they were.

As the dark spirit continued to fillet the man in the street, all he could do was cower. A pit formed in his stomach as he watched the horrific scene continue in front of him. Cower… that’s all he ever did. He was a coward. He had _let_ this happen many times before. Let the darkness walk all over him and use him for his own sick needs. The spirit had tortured people at those tournaments. For information. For power. For pleasure. He chose to not intervene, and the guilt he carried from his choices ate away at him every day.

He watched as the next round of slaps to the victim’s cheek did nothing to rouse him. The man’s eyes were half closed, unfocused pupils fixated on the night sky above. Underneath where one of his arms lay crosswise against his chest dark spots bloomed on his shirt, glistening in the night. The victim’s other arm had fallen limply at his side, blood cascading and coalescing into a pool on the pavement beneath his palm. The dark spirit sat back, a displeased scowl on his face. It looked as if his fun was coming to an end.

The disappointment passed, swept aside for a new sadistic excitement. “Well, we’ve reached that time again. This last bit’s especially for you, Ryou.”

Ryou knew what was coming next.

The darkness within him adjusted his grip on the knife and pressed the tip into the unconscious man’s forehead. The next few slashes were dexterous and purposeful, like an artist moulding their medium. Letters appeared on the man’s flesh. R. Y. O. U.

If he had been in control of his body, he would have gagged. Seeing his name carved in the man’s flesh as a sick taunt tore at his mind. That name carved in bloody letters served as a physical representation of his co-conspiracy. He was no better than the spirit. He did nothing to help the victim, he only stood idly by. He was a part of the problem and had _always_ been a part of the problem.

As he watched the knife raise again, hovering just left of midline over the man’s chest, his internal beratement and guilt crested. This man was about to die, both because of what he had done and had not done. If he had not defied the dark spirit, the man may have never been targeted. Now he was made to pay the price Ryou never could.

All he could do was try to hold on to what was left of himself as the blade started its final descent. It was brought down, tucking deftly between two ribs with a practiced precision, plunging right into the man’s heart. As the blade sunk further, the man’s eyes opened wide, mouth agape in a silent yet haunting scream. Ryou was wracked with a scream of his own. The blade was swiftly twisted, the grotesque crack of ribs rung through the alleyway. The dark spirit leaned in close to the man’s face, his hardened eyes fixated on his victim.

“Look Ryou.” Thin, pale fingers grasped his victim’s jaw, jerking the head upwards so the features could better catch in the dim light. “Look what you’ve done.”

Ryou watched in captive horror as the life faded from the man’s eyes. In that moment, a little bit of Ryou’s soul faded too.

_What have I done…._

The world became vertiginous, the only thing remaining in focus being those dead eyes. Eventually those faded too.

When he thought that all had been lost, lights flared and blinded him briefly. They quickly receded as Ryou blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. He was still in that alley way, the smell of rot and garbage from assaulting his nose. The sounds of traffic were distant, at least several block away. Just as he was Then it happened again. His heart plummeted as he felt a sensation he knew all to well. A hand, a familiar force pushing him backwards again to take over what they shared.

A knife was held in his hand, gleaming metal catching glimmers of streetlight. The night air was cool but was not as cold as the blood running through his veins. As he stared wide eyed at the unexpected weapon in his hand, fear began to crawl up his spine like a cluster of spiders. This was not right, he had to drop the knife. Despite his protest and attempt, his fingers paradoxically tightened around the carved bone handle. No matter how hard he tried, he could not release it. He had no control. How could this be…

Through eyes that both were and were not his own, Ryou stared at the older man cowering on the damp pavement in front of him. He watched as every step he took caused the man to skitter backwards through the grime and filth of the narrow alley way. He continued to advance, and soon, the man could not cower any further, his back firmly pressed up against a dumpster.

“You will give me exactly what I want.” Ryou said against his own volition.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please… please let me go.” The older man seemed to choke on his words, fear catching his tongue.

“I don’t believe you.” His usually delicate British accent held an edge as sharp as the blade in his hand. “You had best start talking.”

From the darkened corner of his mind where he resided, he could hear the man swallow and stammer out a similar response again. It did not help his case. Ryou’s body closed the gap, crouching down in front of the man as his lips twisted into a sadistic smile.

As the chaos continued to unfold in sickening detail, a man with bronzed skin and a shock of white hair rounded the corner several meters behind Ryou. The irregular, hatched scar that cut across his cheek was barely visible in the dim street lighting. He surveyed the scene as the spirit inhabiting Ryou’s body went about his business again for what must be the hundredth time today. The newcomer sighed briefly, tugging at the cuff of his blazer to look at his watch.

Being the King of Hell was difficult. There were hundreds of thousands of demons to coordinate and millions of hell loops to maintain. The guilty will not punish themselves, you know. Well, that was not entirely true.

The majority of those damned to spend eternity here did a fine job of maintaining their hell loops all on their own. Their own feelings of guilt were the major force driving and maintaining their torment, and this particular loop was teeming with it.

Take Ryou Bakura. The guilt that this young man harboured was enough to drive any person to the deepest pockets of their own hell. The king watched as the knife was used again for infliction. This young man’s hell loop was very telling. While other people were tormented by clowns, embarrassing situations and missed opportunities, Ryou had constructed a grotesque torture scene where he was forced to observe a nefarious spirit in possession of his body kill again and again in graphic detail using his own hands. Now what would drive someone to create an elaborate hell loop such as this?

The white-haired man sliced at his victim, both men’s faces shrouded in the shadows of the alley way. A weak and strangled cry filled the silence. The most recent slice this time was a little too deep, a little too ventral. Blood oozed out of this cut much too quickly. The King heard the tell tale tut of displeasure as the knife was raised again. The next few cuts were more decisive, aggressive and all the more lethal, with the victim being dispatched almost mercifully soon thereafter. Just as the loop was about to be restarted, the King of Hell caught a glance of the murderer.

The sweet face of the young man was twisted into a sadistic grimace. A grimace that chilled him to his core.

“It can’t be…” He murmured as his eyes caught the unexpected visage of a version of himself, he had almost forgotten. A version borne out of pain and torment.

Ever since he was promoted from Thief King to the King of Hell by Osiris thousands of years ago, very few things surprised him anymore. But seeing a portion of his soul killing within the hell loop of an eternally damned boy shook him right to his core.

He watched numbly that version of himself killed again. Again. Again. As the killer’s hand pulled away from the lifeless body, for a moment, the King of Hell felt that same blood drip from his hands too.

The memories of his people lying in pools of blood around his village rushed back to him, intrusive and maddening. The faces of the dead haunted him like specters even now. Their deaths were senseless and cruel, orchestrated by a madman whose misguided desire to save his own people had lead to the ruin of so many others. Bakura’s own family had become casualties of this abhorrent deed. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, knuckles white underneath his taught, toned skin.

Everyday he felt that guilt. It had become a part of him. At the behest of his mother, he hid away from the carnage, only coming out to check on his family once it was much too late. Even though he was merely a child at the time, he felt he should have tried to help. He should have died with his family. He should have died fighting the army sent to slaughter his people. Instead, he cowered and he would never forgive himself for that mistake.

At the recollection, hatred teemed in his chest. This hatred still burned even to this day for that blasted pharaoh who did not intervene… who _allowed_ this to happen. His son was no better… oh how he wished he could get his hands on both of them. One day he may have the opportunity to right this wrong. To make the pharaohs feel the immense pain and loss he felt.

Sucking in a deep breath to calm himself, he looked back into the alley way. As the loop of torture started again, he could not help but feel for the victim. That man was another damned soul caught within a hell loop of his own, destined to spend the rest of eternity being filleted alive and forced to die cold and alone. The king knew he was not supposed to emphasize with these people who were sent here, but he could not help but feel something.

The knife plunged again into the man’s chest, ending the scene. He had seen enough. The two souls in this loop were being adequately tortured by the demon at the reigns. There were more loops he needed to check in on before his day was done.

Just as he was about to turn, something in the script deviated. Instead of the victim falling back against the dumpster, he slumped to the side, falling into the sliver of streetlight against the pavement.

His heart stopped.

“How could this be?” The king’s eyes went wide.

On the pavement lay his own father, his eyes clouding over as the white haired killer raised his knife for the final blow. The King of Hell’s feet started to move. Horror clutched at his vocal chords, but still, the pleading scream still erupted from his lips.

“NO! DON’T KILL HIM!”

The knife found its mark

“NOOOO!”

The king reached the killer a moment too late. He shoved aside the vessel of how own with all of the strength he could muster. Broken sobs were emanated freely as he knelt at his father’s side, a hand raising to cup his father’s grizzled cheek.

“Father… father… wake up.” The pleading, broken words he said as a child thousands of years ago were uttered once again.

“Father…”

His father lay still. The light was gone.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his guilt, anger and hatred crested and consumed him. He could not tear himself away from those deadened eyes that reflected his own guilt back at him.

_How could you… how could I…_

He could not breathe, his chest feeling like the one that had been pierced. His vision tunneled, grey creeping to consume all except those eyes. Shortly, they too were consumed by the dark.

A knife was held in hand, gleaming metal catching glimmers of streetlight. Despite his insistence, his fingers only tightened around the grip. He could not release it. He had no control. How could this be…

The killings happened again and again until finally a man with bronzed skin and a shock of white hair rounded the corner several meters behind Ryou. The irregular, hatched scar that cut across his cheek was barely visible in the dim street lighting. He surveyed the scene as the spirit inhabiting Ryou’s body went about his business again for what must be the hundredth time today. The newcomer sighed briefly, tugging at the cuff of his blazer to look at his watch.

Being the King of Hell was difficult, especially when you are one of the souls being tormented.

**Author's Note:**

> Other participants in this challenge were as follows. Check out their awesome work!
> 
> Alastair, ArgentNoelle, AsgardianHobbit98, Babyvfan, Bewdofchaos, Brenna76, Caldera Valhallis, Count Morningstar, CrimsonRaine87, DancesWithSeatbelts, DemonOfTheFridge, DemonShippingQueen, Desna, Drawingdownthemoon, Elleurs, Ferith12, FreyjaBee, HisagiKirigakure, HoshisamaValmor, Iceburg-sanCPX, Jadeile, Kakashi97, Kamil the Awesome, Karkatsbabe, Kittyface27, KurohimeHaruko, Max333, Nazaki-Sama, NekoPantera, Nissa Fox, PhantomGypsy13, Phoenixreal, Potashiamu, RayeMoon, Rhearenee, Sailor Silver Ladybug, SensiblyTainted, SerenaJones.585, SereneCalamity, SesshomaruFreak, Seth's Kiss, Shnuggletea, Sigan, Silirt, Silverstar, Spunky0ne, Starfire93, Tartarun, The Token, TheBadIdeaBears, TsukikoUchu, WhatIDesireEternally, Wrath of Vajra, Xache, Yatsu Narurasuke, Yemi Hikari 
> 
> (The show was Lucifer)


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